Shelly Hickman's Blog

​These last few years have been difficult for our country, and the emergence of COVID has made the last year and a half a difficult time for the entire world. For a brief period, it seemed like we were seeing an end to the darkness of 2020. We masked up and stayed in, and infection rates were finally coming down. Vaccines became available and for many of us came a sigh of relief because we now had some protection against this deadly virus. But just as we were beginning to take a step forward, it seems we’re now taking three steps back and finding ourselves right back where we started.
 
I’ve lately found myself letting a feeling of hopelessness grip me more often than I’d like to admit, as I'm sure many of us have. I normally consider myself an optimist who keeps watch over the types of thoughts that occupy my mind, but current events can make staying optimistic awfully hard. Even if we’re not consciously aware of it, our stress and worry have a way of festering below the surface. I’ve limited my media exposure for the sake of my mental health, but there’s a delicate balance between staying informed and burying your head in the sand. When you begin to feel like nothing you do has a positive impact, that the world has become a never-ending shit show, burying head in sand and erecting walls becomes more and more enticing. Anxieties persist about COVID, the worsening climate crisis, dangerous and illogical policy changes implemented by my school district this year, concerns my students or grandkids will get sick because they’re still unprotected and everything is opening back up because, well, it needs to. Some days it just feels like… a lot. And for all the books, audiobooks, and podcasts I’ve consumed throughout my life that wisely advised me not to spend precious time worrying over things that are beyond my control, there are far too many days I am horrible at putting that piece of advice into practice.

​On top of all that, I was not doing all that great in the weeks leading up to the anniversary of my dad’s death, I think in large part because I knew that date was coming up and I was missing him more than usual. I needed to hear him say, “You just gotta be stoic about these things,” like he often did. I believe departed loved ones do send us signs, but I couldn’t remember the last time I felt like Dad checked in with me. Let’s just say a long time. However, in times past it’s almost always been through music.

​About a week before the anniversary, a song that I hadn’t heard for some time was stuck in my head for two solid days. I didn’t give it much thought at first, just figured it was your standard earworm. I can be quite slow on the uptake when it comes these things, so towards the middle of day two I thought to myself, “Huh. Maybe I ought to pay attention to this.” The song was Howard Jones’ “Hide and Seek”. The song expresses ideas about how and why we are here (I've included the lyrics on the YouTube page), but after paying attention and considering the negative mindset I’d been fighting, I felt strongly that it had an additional meaning for me – that it was a message from Dad saying there’s no need to keep seeking him when he’s always here with me. Though this first sign brought me some comfort, two days later I was still fighting this nagging hopelessness due to world affairs when something else came through.
 
I was watching Netflix's Grace and Frankie and at the end of this particular episode, Martin Sheen’s character sang “The Impossible Dream”. As I listened to the words, I recalled it was a favorite of Dad’s.
 
The Impossible Dream
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest, to follow that star
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far
To fight for the right, without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell for a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true to this glorious quest,
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm,
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove with his last ounce of courage,
To reach the unreachable star ​I've been reading the book The Future We Choose, and the authors discuss the importance of stubborn optimism when tackling the climate crisis, so why shouldn’t we adopt this mindset for all the challenges our world faces?
 
I believe the message in “The Impossible Dream” was Dad once again nudging me out of my funk, reminding me that together we’re capable of great things. Humankind has gone through many dark times, but our stubborn optimism for something better keeps us pushing forward and out of those dark times, no matter how shit showy things get. Because really, what choice do we have when we ask ourselves what kind of future we want for our kids and grandkids?

It makes me think of the following passage that circulated online last year, author unknown.

Imagine you were born in 1900.
When you're 14, World War I begins and ends when you're 18 with 22 million dead.
Soon after a global pandemic, the Spanish Flu, appears, killing 50 million people. And you're alive and 20 years old.
When you're 29 you survive the global economic crisis that started with the collapse of the New York Stock Exchange, causing inflation, unemployment and famine.
When you're 33 years old, the Nazis come to power.
When you're 39, World War II begins and ends when you're 45 years old with a 60 million dead. In the Holocaust 6 million Jews die.
When you're 52, the Korean War begins.
When you're 64, the Vietnam War begins and ends when you're 75.
A child born in 1985 thinks his grandparents have no idea how difficult life is, but they have survived several wars and catastrophes.
Today we have all the comforts in a new world, amid a new pandemic. But we complain because we need to wear masks. We complain because we must stay confined to our homes where we have food, electricity, running water, wifi, even Netflix! None of that existed back in the day. But humanity survived those circumstances and never lost their joy of living.
A small change in our perspective can generate miracles. We should be thankful that we are alive. We should do everything we need to do to protect and help each other.

We can effect change if we keep pushing forward, keep caring for each other, and keep caring for our planet. Thankfully, there are hella brilliant people in this world who can help us get there – we just have to determine and  commit to individual actions that can make a difference… and remain stubbornly optimistic.

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Today marks two years since my dad ended his life. He left no explanation so I will never know for certain why he made that decision, though I shared my own ideas in this post written shortly after his death.
 
August the following year, a close friend’s son took his life. He was eighteen. He did leave an explanation, and his family was blindsided to learn he’d been living with a sadness and hopelessness he could no longer tolerate.
 
I have lost a child. I know what it’s like to be in such a dark place that when your head hits the pillow each night, you wish you would no longer wake. I know what it’s like to live in that darkness for months on end. That being said, I have never once considered taking matters into my own hands. I’m not saying that as some sort of judgment. I’m just saying I don’t know what it’s like to have those thoughts.
 
I do know this. We have a mental health problem in our society that is not being addressed. People are hurting, often silently, and so we are left feeling confused, rejected, guilty, or any number of painful emotions when someone we love dies of suicide. They didn’t seem unhappy. Why did they feel they couldn’t confide in me? Why didn’t I see the signs? I should have checked in with them. How could they leave me this way?
 
For whatever reason, there is a stigma attached when someone reveals that they are experiencing mental or emotional struggles. Things are slowly getting better, but we’ve still got a long way to go.
 
Western society tends to have a “suck it up, Buttercup” mentality that makes it difficult for people to reveal their internal struggles, especially men. I’m not suggesting we have to be a culture of 24/7 diarrhea of emotions - there’s a time and place for everything. But clearly, many are not finding a balance between having healthy coping skills for when life is shit – as we all know it can be at times – and feeling safe enough to reach out for help when those coping skills are not cutting it. Or in the case of a young person like my friend's son, may be altogether missing. And the subject of suicide? We’ve deemed it too uncomfortable and scary to talk about, so most of the time we just don’t.
 
What saddens me the most about my dad - aside from missing him so much every damn day - is that despite how close our family had always been, he felt he couldn’t tell a single one of us what he was going through. The loneliness he must have carried breaks my heart.
 
When I was in high school, Tears for Fears was one of my favorite bands. I don’t remember how it came about - maybe I told my dad how much I loved their album The Hurting - but he borrowed my cassette and listened to it on his bus ride to and from his job at the Nevada Test Site. I was generally a happy, content teenager, and hadn’t given the lyrics on the album much consideration so I was puzzled when Dad later asked me if I was doing okay.
 
“Well, the songs on that album...” he said when I asked him why. “Start of a Breakdown?” There were several other songs that, as a parent, would have caused me concern as well. The Hurting, Mad World, Watch Me Bleed. No, I was not angsty or struggling; I just liked the music. Okay, maybe I liked it because it was angsty, but I wasn’t depressed or on the verge of a breakdown. The point is he was checking in with me, just in case.
 
I wish I had checked in with him.

Author Sam Harris wrote, “Our minds are all we have. They are all we have ever had. And they are all we can offer others.” To others, someone may appear to have the ingredients of a happy life, but we can never truly know what it going on in someone's psyche.  

People, please check in with your people. There's no guarantee if the person is hurting they will tell you when asked, but if a friend or family member ever does reveal they are having thoughts of suicide, please let them know there is no shame in such feelings and it’s okay to ask for help. Don’t say things like, “But why? You have so much to live for.” They may not even understand why they feel that way, they just know they do.

Life can be fricking hard, and the shame and embarrassment surrounding mental health challenges are why far too many suffer in silence when they shouldn’t have to. 
 
When we ask our cashier or delivery person or food server How are you? we need to be willing to listen to an honest response that isn’t the usual good or fine we’ve been programmed to say, even when we are far from good or fine. If we’re not willing to do that, then we shouldn’t ask. We might be the only person they shared their burdens with, and offering a compassionate ear, even for just a few minutes, could have more impact than we may ever know.
 
If you are someone who is struggling right now, I want to share a few words written by Glennon Doyle that really hit home for me.
 
“If you are uncomfortable – in deep pain, angry, yearning, confused – you don’t have a problem, you have a life. Being human is not hard because you’re doing it wrong, it’s hard because you’re doing it right. You will never change the fact that being human is hard, so you must change your idea that it was ever supposed to be easy.”
 
I'm pretty damn sure there are far more people than you realize who have at some point in their lives found themselves lying on the floor in a fetal position. And if you are having thoughts of ending it, please talk to someone. I'm confident there is someone in your life who would much rather listen to your problems than your eulogy.

I love and miss you, Dad, and can’t help but believe you are free from whatever pain you carried while you were here. Give Sydney a big kiss for me, and I’ll catch you on the other side.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
1-800-273-8255

Related Posts...
​Let Me Tell You About My Dad
Finding My Way Through Grief
Life and Happiness After Loss

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In this follow-up to my July video in which weird things were happening to my vision, I share what was causing my problem, as well as a long searched for solution to having to wear two pairs of glasses at the same time while on the computer. (And no, it wasn't bifocals or progressives.)
Click on image.

After making every effort to avoid hormone replacement because of all the scary things I've heard about it through the years, I explain why I decided to go on estrogen replacement. It wasn't just for menopause relief.

I recently finished reading "The Untethered Soul" by Michael Singer, and I talk about how his ideas are helping me manage my stress in these crazy times.

Readers? Bifocals? Progressives? In my latest YouTube post, I discuss what a pain it has been trying to correct my vision in my 50's!

In my latest YouTube post, I share my experience with Botox and why I decided to give facial acupuncture a try instead.

Twenty years ago today, I lost my daughter Sydney to leukemia. The night before she died, she had slept between her dad and me, and the memory of waking the next morning to discover she was gone will forever be etched in my mind. While many interactions and events from that time in my life remain blurry, I can so easily revisit the pain and heartache of that moment. It was almost as if I had died with her because when I bring that scene to mind, I see it as a spectator, like I was floating outside my body, as we often hear in descriptions of near death experiences.
 
It seems unreal that twenty years have passed since that morning. For some time I couldn’t conceive how I would ever be happy again after losing her. It just didn’t seem possible. Or even right.
 
But one day - I don’t remember exactly when it happened - I realized I was happy. And it was okay to be happy.
 
My family is no stranger to tragic loss. Last summer we lost my dad to suicide. After Sydney died, I knew in my heart that it didn’t exempt us from further tragedy. Life is full of grief. It’s just part of it, and I am still working out the grief from the loss of my dad, as I know is my mom, my husband, and my kids. There is no moving past grief or getting over it. Ever. You just have to move through it, and until you do, you’re not doing yourself any favors.
 
I once listened to a podcast with author Elizabeth Gilbert, who lost her partner to cancer. Elizabeth was her partner’s care giver up until her death, and she described the experience as excruciating, heart wrenching, but also beautiful in its own way. She said she wouldn’t have had it any other way because things happened just as they should have.
 
Elizabeth is far more evolved than me. I don’t find loss beautiful. I agree that it has a way of making you more appreciative and more aware of all that’s good in this world, but I would much rather have seen Sydney grow into adulthood and have a long and fulfilling life. And while we all know the odds are good that our parents will go before us, I would have preferred that my dad left this earth in a far less traumatic way.
 
But we don’t get to choose. Shit happens. Life happens.
 
Twenty years ago, if someone had told me I would find happiness again, I would have nodded appreciatively while silently spewing a few choice words their way. But they would have been right. I have a husband of thirty years I love dearly, who has been my rock through good times and bad. I have two thoughtful, smart, and funny kids who have grown into amazing adults and make me proud every day. And more recently, a sweet and sassy future daughter-in-law, and a grandbaby who brings me more joy than I can express. I will miss and grieve my daughter and my father the rest of my days, but my life is good.
 
So, I guess this post is for those who are grieving and wondering if they can ever be happy again. I’m here to say that you most certainly can. I know that right now it seems out of the realm of possibility. I’ve been in that deep, dark pit you’re convinced you will never escape. At times you will believe the pain is more than you can physically bear.
 
But one day – you won’t remember exactly when it happened – you will realize you are happy. And it is okay to be happy.

Happy heavenly birthday, my sweet Sydney Bean.

Remote instruction has created challenges for teachers, parents, and students alike, which leads us to ask... what will education look like post Covid-19? As of now, we can't know if some form of social distancing will still be needed by the time the 2020-2021 school year begins (I hope not!), but if so, what are some approaches we can take to make that scenario more effective than what we are currently doing? In my latest YouTube post, I'm asking all of you to share your thoughts, ideas, and experiences.

​Feeling a little stressed, are we? In my latest post, I share the ways in which I'm trying to keep a healthy mindset (not that I'm an expert by any means), and talk about some of the simple pleasures we can look forward to when we're on the other side of coronavirus.